


Bedside manner

by withered



Series: Who's been lovin' you good? [54]
Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Bucky has the patience of a saint, Caretaking, Drama Queen Tony Stark, M/M, Oblivious Tony Stark, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sickfic, not team Cap friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:08:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23786092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withered/pseuds/withered
Summary: As a younger man Tony has woken up in bed with models, reporters, politicians, socialites, athletes and silver screen darlings of every variety. Before his Afghanistan wake up call, Tony had been used to being roused with teasing touches and sinful purrs, tempting him to stay a little longer, linger just a bit,one more round, c’mon, you know you want to…But he’d been a younger man then, and now Tony wakes up to a refreshingly cold metal hand against his temple, and the Winter Soldier standing over him, accusing, “Your body temperature is wrong.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark
Series: Who's been lovin' you good? [54]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/918138
Comments: 131
Kudos: 1859





	Bedside manner

**Author's Note:**

> Rated for a blink and you'll miss it handjob at the end

As a younger man Tony has woken up in bed with models, reporters, politicians, socialites, athletes and silver screen darlings of every variety. Before his Afghanistan wake up call, Tony had been used to being roused with teasing touches and sinful purrs, tempting him to stay a little longer, linger just a bit, _one more round, c’mon, you know you want to…_

But he’d been a younger man then, and now Tony wakes up to a refreshingly cold metal hand against his temple, and the Winter Soldier standing over him, accusing, “Your body temperature is wrong.”

And Tony would have Thoughts about this, but his head feels chocked full of cotton, and the retort comes out slurred, “What about it?”

Which is apparently the wrong thing to say because Barnes grunts, pulls his hand away, and turns to leave.

It’s so rude of him, seriously.

First waking Tony up, and then taking away the sweet relief of his cold mechanical limb. The audacity.

Tony huffs out a breath that feels scrapped from the very bottom of his lungs, and he shudders uncomfortably from the force of a series of uncontrollable coughs.

Oh – oh, _no, I know what this is,_ Tony thinks with growing horror which is immediately followed by another curse that Barnes took his ice-cold hand and just up and _left him_ in his hour of need!

Without the contrast of cool metal, the amount of heat pouring out of Tony’s pores is enough to make him dizzy. And because it’s making him dizzy – a dumb biological response really because he’s pretty sure he’s horizontal – It’s also making him nauseous and physically ill, leading to some truly pitiful groaning and moaning. It would be sexier in any other context except Tony’s pretty sure his bones are melting beneath his skin.

And the fact that he’s _alone?_ Oh, cruel fate!

“Fri,” he wails, plying for sympathy as he flops over onto his back where the couch cushions are already damp with sweat. Disgusting. “What the hell happened?”

“You’ve been on a creator high for the past week,” Friday intones a little vindictively. “I’ve been trying to get you to take a break for days and you ignored me,” is the accompanying accusation, and Tony really _really_ doesn’t need this right now.

“Fri,” he grunts, “I swear on Thor, I will send you to a community college, save the I-told-you-so for when I’m not dying.”

“You’re not dying, it’s a fever,” Friday informs, resigned. “You’ve been asleep in the workshop for the past four hours. I’ve already contacted Medical.” She pauses, then, “Also, Colonel Rhodes has a message for you.”

Tony wants to protest because he knows exactly what his platypus will say, _“You gremlin.”_

Turning his head reluctantly to find Rhodey glaring at him from a screen which he can’t be currently doing, actually, because time zones, and Rhodey’s very busy schedule what with the conference and Accord discussions, so Tony can at least comfort himself that this is a recorded message, but that does nothing to reduce Rhodey’s ire: “What part of _you aren’t sixteen anymore_ don’t you get? You have a heart condition, your lungs are shit, and _you have a compromised immune system._ When Friday says get out of the lab and go the fuck to sleep, she means it. _I mean it._ If I call again and you aren’t following doctor’s orders, so help me, I will fly back home and put you to bed myself.”

“No, don’t do that,” Tony complains to the screen, “I love you Gumdrop, but you have the worst bedside manner!” Though the actual reason is because Rhodey is a super important person, the lead Avenger in the new line up alongside Carol, and he needs to be at these meetings, and Tony can’t have Rhodey _here_ playing nursemaid instead. “I’m fine, I’m fine! Friday,” Tony orders, wobbling on jelly legs, “tell Rhodey I’m fine, I got this all taken care of!” Which is, of course, when he loses his balance – if he’d ever had it – and almost brains himself on the table.

Thanks to Barnes coming back though, Tony doesn’t.

Instead, he finds himself in the crook of a metal arm belonging to the Compound’s one and only amnesic killing machine, a much safer option than the table and Tony’s losing fight with gravity, if he’s seriously considering immediate threats to his person.

Which he is. Obviously.

Despite popular opinion that he doesn’t have any self-preservation skills, it is an ability he practices _always_. Tony Stark’s middle name is _Caution_ so of course, he’s aware of the dangers of his bodily weaknesses and Barnes’…everything.

He takes it all very seriously.

“Hello,” Tony sombrely greets his savior through the muzzy feeling inflating between his ears before patting Barnes’ cheek, and then trying to stand on his own.

This attempt does not go well.

So not well, in fact, that between one blink and another – but in Tony’s defense, it could’ve just been a _really long blink_ – Barnes has him in a princess carry, and Tony would swoon if he didn’t immediately feel like throwing up.

It gets worse.

“Ah, you have him,” Bruce says, _with a wheel chair_ _of all things like Tony is that much of a disaster_.

At the very least, Brucie doesn’t ignore Tony’s snort of derision and asks Barnes instead, “Are you alright to carry him?” And that’s…worse, right? But Barnes must do something with his face that indicates he doesn’t mind because Bruce nods, turning back from where he’d come and saying, “He’ll still have to go to Medical though, just to make sure it isn’t serious. Good thing Helen’s around.”

Into Barnes’ shoulder, Tony groans, “This is the bad place.”

If Rhodey was livid just hearing about Tony being unwell, Helen is _incandescent with rage_ at actually seeing him and his magnificently awful test results.

Tony thinks that this is a by-product of actually becoming friends with people and having them _care_ about him. He cringes through her yelling, taking charge in berating him which leaves Bruce, as a result, serene, dutifully tacking on adjourning, “Yeah” and “what she said” in docile agreement.

Tony would like to remind them both that they aren’t (1) his parents, and (2) _not those kinds of doctors_ , but he figures Bruce with his seven PHDs and Helen’s role as leading, senior scientist of Cradle MedTech means they can be any kind of doctor they want.

(Vaguely, he understands that that’s not how its supposed to work, but what does he _really_ know at this point?)

Helen informs him that though diagnosing him is severely below her pay grade, and Bruce, once again, concurs with the assessment, they both take turns flinging instructions for his care.

Tony remembers none of this.

Which is fine because evidently, they weren’t telling _him_ so much as telling Friday and Barnes.

It’s an odd decision, mind, but with both Bruce and Helen on their way out for other appointments across the country (Bruce) and the globe (Helen), Tony doesn’t really have any other options in terms of caregivers.

Pepper is at an energy conservation conference in Johannesburg with Hope, and even if Happy weren’t on vacation, May could accidentally poison them both. Laura’s got her hands full with the little agents back on the farm, and the rest of the kids are obviously out of the question.

Strange is immediately discarded as an option because he would absolutely be a dick about this while the Guardians aren’t currently in their neck of the woods, not that Tony would trust them with human biology. Thor and his royal circle, on the other hand, are very much occupied settling the Asgardians into their new home. Again, Thor wasn't a real option to begin with, but he doesn’t like being left out, even metaphorically.

All of which means that Tony’s only choices are Friday, Barnes and the still-very-much-grounded Rogues, holed up in the West Wing.

It’s not a real question as to who Bruce and Helen trust Tony with, rather that the latter of the two agree at all.

Friday is practically chipper at the thought of helping Tony within her new parameters, and in an ironic twist of fate, Barnes seems just as willing to nurse Tony back to health.

“Don’t have to,” Tony tells him, words slightly slurred, delirious now from the medication that’s starting to do its magic as Barnes carries Tony to his quarters. “Don’t need to pay me back.”

“Not trying to.”

Tony snorts, poking at Barnes' cheek with his index finger. “Liar.” Arching his neck back over the cool press of Barnes’ arm, Tony adds, “You and me are good.”

Barnes glances at him, quick, assessing – Tony thinks, but his sense of time is a little staggered and he completely misses the way Barnes’ eyes linger along the line of Tony’s exposed throat – before Barnes says, “Could be better.”

Tony twitches a foot, hums, “True…true…”

Then, following upon the earlier agreed upon directive to help Tony get comfortable, Barnes helps him out of his shirt which Tony has no problem with because _he’s hot; his skin feels gross and clammy with sweat and ugh, but also –_ “Hello, blue.”

Barnes quirks a brow, a flicker of amusement like a glint of glass catching the light in his gaze, and Tony leans in until their noses are pressed together, and Tony can tell him, “Pretty.” He watches with distant, vague interest at the blush that blooms across the apples of Barnes’ cheeks before Tony is distracted by Friday telling Barnes where to find the bathroom.

Tony doesn’t know how much time passes between his sluggish blinks, but he’s in his bed the next time he opens his eyes, and drowning in blankets that he has to paw out of to breath air that isn’t humid.

He also, might be panicking a little because the room is dark and its hot and Tony’s limbs feel like they’re moving through molasses. His head aches, and fuck, his chest feels like it’s burning. It’s like that damned cave all over again. Over the hammering of his heart, he can hear Yinsen’s voice, and the sinister murmurs of his captors, the heavy thunk of a tub. _Oh god, oh god, they’re gonna put him under – they’re gonna_ –

Finally fighting free of the sheets, the arc reactor glows quietly through a shirt he doesn’t remember putting on, and Tony falls back against his pillows in relief.

Distantly, he can hear Friday assuring him gently, “…it’s nine in the evening, you’re in the Compound, you’re in your room. Sergeant Barnes is on his way. You’re safe, Boss. I promise, everything is -”

His ragged coughs surprise them both, and just as he thinks his lungs will shrivel up in his chest, he’s being helped up and pulled back against a firm chest.

Through the material of his shirt, the cold metal hand is a balm against heated flesh.

Time is inconsequential, Tony doesn’t remember how long it takes to breathe normally again, but Barnes’ unimpressed, “Your heart rate isn’t right,” makes him splutter.

Of all the strange things to say to a man on his death bed! “Your bedside manner needs work,” Tony informs, a little hysterical.

He hums in acknowledgement.

Tony, “If you must know, this is normal!” He almost startles when he realizes that Barnes’ hand is already resting over his heart. Because it had to be. Given that Barnes had just _said_ his heart rate isn’t right which is ridiculous because how would Barnes know what a normal heart rate feels like? The people he kills are in a state of panic about being killed!

He gulps down another breath to continue ranting, “I have a heart condition!”

“I’m aware.”

Then, “So obviously it wouldn’t be _normal-normal_.”

“It isn’t normal for you,” Barnes points out.

And that’s. What. Tony looks over his shoulder to squint suspiciously at him. “Why do you know what’s normal for me?”

“I tell him,” Friday interjects, her tone flat and bashful at once. “I didn’t know how to…help…when the Rogues returned to the Compound.”

“So, you enlisted a serial killer?”

If Friday could shrug, she would. “The Rogues are scared of him,” a fact that Barnes echoes with a twitch of his lip that looks like the beginnings of a smirk. Then, “Colonel Rhodes cleared it.” Well then, no wonder everyone seemed okay with Barnes being put on nurse maid duty.

Granted, his slim options aside, Tony’s not exactly. Mad, about it.

He and Barnes, they’re good.

The “I’m sorry for ruining your life” gift with the actual fucking head of the person who ordered his parents’ kill was a little _much_ but Tony was raised mostly right, and had accepted it because it’s the thought that counted and Barnes had been genuinely apologetic which is more than can be said for Rogers. Nonetheless, he and Barnes are…friendly, almost, given that Barnes doesn’t so much as hang out with Tony as much as he lurks in whatever room Tony is currently occupying.

Though, Friday getting Barnes to reign in the Rogues is certainly an interesting development, and explains _so much_ about why _Barton and Maximoff_ are downright civil. “Wait, wait,” Tony says, patting Barnes on the other arm, “Is this how you get people to like you? You threaten people they don’t like?”

Barnes considers, “Is it working?”

“Honestly?” Tony muses, “Yeah, it’s doing it for me.” Then, as he stares up at the ceiling, head still tilted on Barnes’ shoulder, Tony tells him, “I should call you by your name then.”

“Why.”

“We’re friends now,” Tony protests, then groans. “But I can’t call you Bucky. Not with a straight face.”

He hums, but offers no alternatives, and if that’s how he wants to play it, so be it.

“Barnes it is then, friend,” Tony decides, flashing Barnes with his most charming grin. Though, it’s probably not doing what it should because Barnes’ nose crinkles, and – oh god, Tony’s still sticky and sweaty and gross.

“I swear I make a better impression on friends than this,” he protests as Barnes slips out from behind him, even though it's a lie. He met Rhodey during a breakdown and covered in motor oil. He's pretty sure he threw up on Hope, but in his defense, they were both babies.

Thankfully, Barnes is only gone for a second, offering a giant mug. After making sure Tony has a handle on it before he lets him have it, Barnes tells him blandly, “It’s soup.”

“Congratulations,” Tony says and mocks a toast with the giant mug. “Did you make this yourself?”

“Out of a can,” Barnes replies, “Didn’t want to leave you for too long.”

“Aww, you care!”

“Eat.”

“Drink,” Tony corrects, and then does it because Barnes is giving him the same Look that Rhodey does whenever Tony thinks he’s done something clever but he’s really just being annoying. How rude, Tony decides gleefully. _We’ll be best friends in no time!_

Barnes ensures Tony doesn’t spill any on himself, and finishes the entire mug’s contents even though the concept of _food_ is making his stomach upset. Not that Barnes gives a shit because in his words, “You don’t eat.”

“I had a smoothie,” Tony argues, though he couldn’t say _when_ even under threat of torture.

Barnes snorts. “You did not.”

“Coffee.”

“That’s not an acceptable food group.”

And back and forth it goes, until Barnes gives him his medication and actually _tucks Tony into bed_. Wiggling his socked toes happily beneath the covers, Tony praises, “You’re doing better than Rhodey already.”

Exhaling a chuckle, Barnes gets up.

“Oh no, no, no, where do you think you’re going?”

“You need to sleep,” Barnes says, though his movements now are stiff, hesitant; his brow furrowed in confusion.

“You need to stay here,” Tony tells him, pouting. “What if I get a nightmare?”

Instead of calling him out on his shit which isn’t always shit, at least not in this case because hiding his trauma with humor is his go-to move; Barnes tilts his head like an adorable inquisitive kitten. “Do you have those a lot?”

“Well,” Tony stalls, “I figured if you could keep the Rogues at bay, you can do the same with the shitty tricks my mind plays.” 

To his everlasting surprise, Barnes says, “Okay.” And then proceeds to blow Tony’s mind when Barnes takes up the post on Tony’s other side, pulls out a book from god knows where, and starts to read.

Tony nudges his forehead against Barnes’ hip, half to see what book’s gotten the Winter Soldier so engrossed, and half to be annoying because even while sick, he’s still Tony. When he feels a hand in his hair, Tony makes an involuntary noise of pleasure, curls in a little tighter around Barnes, and sleeps.

While Tony gets sick pretty easily when he’s not doing the bare minimum to take care of himself, recovery is a lot faster when it doesn’t involve any broken bones.

Plus, Barnes is a great caretaker.

He doesn’t stop petting Tony’s hair whenever Tony is beside him (which is always), and he doesn’t think twice about refilling endless glasses of water and making more cans of soup than is reasonably necessary for a man who falls asleep eating most of it.

When Tony tries to read over some proposals on his Starkpad while Barnes changes the sweaty sheets, Tony gets to about the second paragraph before the device is harmlessly deposited on the couch and Tony is carried back into bed. _It’s great_.

While Barnes still respects Tony’s space when he asks for it (which is only when visits to the throne are required), he also has no qualms about getting Tony clean. He’s had cursory clean ups with a wet cloth throughout Tony’s bed rest, and a single bath where Barnes not only washed his hair for him, but also sat on the floor of the bathroom just to make sure Tony didn’t drown.

It’s sweet, and probably a bit too much, but Barnes doesn’t complain and Tony really likes the attention.

Unfortunately, for all that Barnes is proving to be a great friend, beyond even Rhodey’s capabilities – understandably since Tony’s worn away at all of his best friend’s patience over the years – Barnes still refuses to be called Tony’s friend.

What? Tony’s a _great_ friend. He can admit to being a disaster a good half of the time, and he never remembers important dates, but just say the _word_ and Tony will give you his everything. It’s probably not healthy, in hindsight, but that’s why his current friends are so great. They’re fantastic judges of character, and Tony knows Barnes is, ergo, they should be friends. The best of friends.

But Barnes just stares at him whenever Tony suggests it.

“It’s not right you know, that you won’t just make this official,” Tony complains as he balances on Barnes’ back, counting out his push-ups as he does them.

Tony had complained about Barnes ignoring him because he’s a pain in the ass, and Barnes’ apparent solution had been to involve him in his work outs.

Tony only starts to have an issue with it when he starts to feel nauseous again, and that results in Barnes putting him on the couch, layering him in blankets and fetching him tea. Once he gets back, Barnes turns on the television to some wild life documentary, slides behind Tony, and has Tony’s hair beneath his palm.

“We could get matching shirts,” Tony tries to bargain, “Rhodey and I have them!”

Barnes pointedly ignores him, even when Tony pouts. _Especially when Tony pouts._ It’s a little disheartening, is what Tony means.

Barnes is a great friend. The best.

Rogers doesn’t know what he’s missing, a declaration that gets a hum and a ghost of a smile that makes Tony want to cup his cheeks and coo at him which would likely lead to Barnes flipping him onto his back causing a reaction that is decidedly _not friendly._

A situation that is occurring more and more because Tony gets better, and certain parts of his anatomy are _very interested_ with Barnes’ habit of sleeping pressed up all along Tony’s back.

Fucking biology.

When trying to ignore it doesn’t work because Tony’s sex life is non-existent, Tony tries to squirm out of the iron clad hold Barnes has on him. This fails abysmally when Barnes just holds him tighter, burying his nose against the juncture where Tony’s shoulder meets his neck, and sighing.

Tony, in turn, exhales noisily and reaches blindly back to pat Barnes awake, “I gotta…I gotta go to the bathroom.”

“Why,” is the sleepy mumble.

“Gotta…shower,” he tries to prompt, but only earns Barnes’ confusion.

“It’s too early to get up.”

“It’s an emergency,” Tony grits his teeth, and with a resigned exhale, Barnes lets go.

Only to get up and _go with him_.

“Barnes,” Tony protests, “ _I’m fine_.”

Glaring at him through sleepy blue eyes, Barnes grunts. “You could fall.”

Oh Jesus, fuck.

Tony hurriedly sheds his clothes, if only to make sure Barnes doesn’t get a face-full of morning wood when Barnes inevitably tries to help him undress – oh Jesus, oh fuck, don’t think that, _no_ – and hops into the shower, blasting it on cold, and shivering in relief, hand twitching to get a hold of himself but then –

Barnes steps in, fully clothed and still mostly asleep.

“Wait – wait, what are you doing?” Tony protests weakly, “You-your clothes!”

“It’s fine, I won’t get sick,” Barnes replies, and Tony thinks desperately that that’s not the fucking point but it doesn’t matter because Barnes is reaching around him to make the shower warmer and then his hands are resting on Tony’s hips to make sure he stays upright, and –

Slack lips brushing against Tony's ear, Barnes murmurs, “Is that the emergency?”

No doubt as to what Barnes is looking at, Tony stutters, “Uh…yeah..."

Barnes hums, hooks his chin over Tony's shoulder, and asks, "Do you want me to take care of it?" 

And because the neurons in Tony's brain have stopped firing, his mouth says, "Uh....yeah?" And instead of being horrified with him, Barnes only hums, and then does just that.

Tony's brain, as a result, has nothing smart to say, and Tony's mouth only shapes into a shocked shudder because Barnes is pumping him with his _metal fucking hand like that isn’t a fantasy Tony has but pretends he doesn’t_. Tilting his head back over Barnes shoulder, Tony groans. The sound bouncing and singing along the walls in a damp echo, Barnes grunt of approval gone beneath the spray of water.

With the indentations of Barnes’ fingers in his hip, Barnes’ teeth marks on his shoulder, Tony’s exhale sounds like a hysterical laugh. “So, is this why we can’t be friends?”

Against his skin, he feels Barnes’ smile.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I struggle for three hours to write three hundred words, and I manage this in two. What is life. Why is my brain like this. Why -
> 
> Side note: if you'd like the pdf to the series, you can get it [here](https://everythingwithered.wordpress.com/2020/04/19/whos-been-lovin-you-good/).


End file.
